


Default Settings

by through_shadows_falling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bodyswap, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, M/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker, Secret Santa Exchange 2014, Self-Harm, Spoilers up to 10x05, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3085751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel discover a way to save each other from the Mark of Cain, and the aftermath of stealing Grace.</p><p>Unfortunately, the solution comes at a price. </p><p>One word: bodyswap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Default Settings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paxdracona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxdracona/gifts).



> This was written for [Paxdracona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxdracona) for the 2014 Dean/Cas Secret Santa Exchange. 
> 
> I apologize that I didn't adhere to your prompt exactly...my muse just ran away with the 'body-swap' idea and it became this! Hehe...at least there's some hurt/comfort ish? I hope you like it! 
> 
> Based loosely (again, sorry!) on this prompt:
> 
> "Prompt 3 - Dean and Cas bodyswap, instead of bitching about it they take the opportunity with both hands and with great creativity. Dean's especially interested in finally knowing exactly how it feels to have the wings in the relationship; judging by how Cas falls apart whenever Dean has his hands all over them it'll be frikkin' awesome ♥ (and yes. Yes it is, he discovers.)"
> 
> Special thanks to my beta reader, [Alena](http://peter-pantomime.tumblr.com/)!

 

 

Being pissed off was like a default setting with the goddamn Mark still on his arm, but Dean knew it wasn’t just Cain’s influence this time. No, Cas just  _had_ to show up – his lady friend left behind, thank god – and basically pass out on the bunker doorstep, coughing like an old smoker whose lungs were giving out. If that weren’t bad enough, when he and Sam dragged him inside and Dean forced some food into him – seriously, he was pale and shivering and way too thin – he had seen the resignation in Cas’s eyes. Cas was dying, but somehow, he was okay with that.

_“I’ve accepted my fate,”_ Dean had overheard Cas saying to Sam, and Dean had had to march up and down the hallways a few times, clenching and unclenching his fists, breathing hard to force down the red seeping into his vision. He wanted to kill something, he _needed_ to kill something, and he hated that it was all coming down to this, all because Cas was giving up. _Again_. The last thing Dean needed was more memories of Purgatory, but now whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Cas shoving his hand away as the portal closed. Sometimes, at his worst, Dean could even remember a conversation in a motel room, Cas just sitting there on the bed, poring through John’s journal. Dean had sat on the bed opposite him, saying they needed to talk, and it was like Cas’s words reverberated in his skull.

 _“If I see what Heaven has become…what_ I _made of it, I’m afraid I might kill myself.”_

And now here Cas was, getting his wish, and all Dean wanted to do was scream. Or better yet, make someone else scream. Sam might’ve convinced him to lay low since that last hunt, when he had come back to himself only after unloading a whole magazine of extra bullets into a cooling corpse, but now, it felt like the bunker walls were closing in on him. There were only so many places he could go, and since his stint as a demon, even their home had been tainted with dark memories. This was where he had burst down the door to go after his brother with an ax. This was where he had cornered Sam and was about to kill him before Cas stepped in, all hopped up on stolen mojo.

The only difference now was Cas, fading right before their eyes.

Scratching at the Mark, Dean stopped pacing, turning to bang the back of his head on the wall as he leaned against it. He closed his eyes, a bitter curl to his lips as another memory burst anew in his mind.

Cas was tied to a chair, his lifeless body slumped against the binds, and Dean was holding his face, his voice breaking on Cas’s name. Against all odds, Sam straightened but as Gadreel, and he poured life back into Cas’s beaten, abused body. Dean watched Sam collapse, and then a voice drew him back, hoarse and deep.

_“Dean.”_

There were more words and significant glances, but when Dean told Cas, _ordered_ Cas, to never do that again, he could remember the befuddled look in the former angel’s eyes as he agreed with a raspy, _“Alright.”_

Cas had agreed to live, hadn’t he? That was a promise Dean was holding him to, but apparently it had meant nothing. Nothing, after all this time, after all this living and dying and fighting and suffering.

It all meant nothing.

Maybe it would’ve been better for Cas to have stayed in Purgatory. At some point, he’d have been too weak to defend himself, and Dean could imagine the monsters that would have closed in on him, torn him to shreds with their fangs, ripping away flesh and poisoning the Grace that spilled out of him and—

Dean slumped down the wall, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing until there were bursts of color to distract him.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, huddled in the hallway, but it was Sam who found him, treading cautiously even with his lumbering footsteps. A raw ache ripped through Dean, and he felt an irrational urge to cut off his arm, as if that would take away the Mark and undo all the damage he had caused. Sam would never look at him the same again, and it was all his fault. He should’ve known what the Mark would do, how it would bring out the part of him he had kept buried, or at least tried to. But Hell wasn’t something to get past, and that monster was all him. He could smell the blood now, feel it running silkily over his fingers, dripping onto the floor…

“Dean!” came Sam’s voice, and Dean blinked over to where Sam was crouched beside him, tugging on his shoulder. “Dean, are you okay?”

Dean swallowed, taking a deep breath. He pushed Sam away and lurched to his feet, nodding briskly. “I’m fine. Cas?”

“Got him in one of the spare rooms. He passed out pretty quick. It…doesn’t look good.”

“Let me guess – there’s no cure for him either.”

Sam’s face darkened. “There _is_ a cure, for both of you. We just need to find it. We’ll get back to work and find something—”

“You really think the Men of Letters have anything in their archives about angel Grace?” Dean said. “They might’ve known about the flying dicks, but they sure as shit didn’t know specifics.”

Sam shifted weight onto his other leg, crossing his arms. “We don’t know that for sure. We haven’t even gone back more than a few decades into their research, plus there are the vaults in the basement. There’s got to be something in there that can help you _and_ Cas.”

Dean shook his head, biting back harsh words that didn’t seem to stem from his own thoughts. The Mark pulsed on his wrist, flaring white hot, and Dean barely resisted scratching at it again, not wanting Sam to see. But Sam knew him better than that, and could see the way Dean was tensing. He just shook his head.

“I know it all looks pretty bad right now, but we’ve got to—”

“How?” Dean interrupted, and Sam frowned at him.                       

“How what?”             

“How can you be so freaking optimistic? How can you still think we’ll be okay?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “I dunno. I think…the Supernatural play that Marie put on just helped me realize all the shit we’ve gone through, you know? We’ve both survived worse, and hell, we’ve died so many times but we’ve always managed to come back—”

“Not always in one piece,” Dean muttered.

“—yeah, not always in one piece, but still. It was enough. And we always fixed it.”

There was quiet between them, and Dean wished for one moment that he could just close his eyes, go to sleep, and never wake up again. It was a foolish desire, though, and one he knew from experience would never be fulfilled.

“There’ll be peace when you are done, _my ass_ ,” Dean grumbled under his breath, waving it away as nothing when Sam glanced at him. Dean cleared his throat. “Alright, fine. You hit the books again, I’ll hit the creepy crap in the basement. We’ll focus on finding a cure for Cas first.”

Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean’s glare made him clamp it shut.

“Yeah, we’ll keep in mind stuff about the Mark. But Cas is priority, got it?”

At those words, Sam gave him a _look_ and Dean pointedly ignored it, breezing past him toward the stairs leading down to the vaults.

Hours later had produced little more than sneezing fits from dust and teetering piles of ‘definitely nots’ and ‘maybes.’ There were all sorts of things in the vaults, ranging from small trinkets to lethal weapons, and each had a corresponding file with known information on it. Some objects were stored for safekeeping from the public, while others were just plain deadly and needed to be kept sealed tight. Those were the ones with notes in the margins about requiring further research, particularly pertaining to the ‘removal’ of said object. Dean was careful about those, and didn’t even bother touching the curse boxes he found. He flipped through file upon file, and with each turned page, he felt himself growing increasingly irritated by the poor scribe’s handwriting, which was neat but cramped and all in cursive – like _that_ helped make it legible.

Finally, with his stomach growling, his eyes aching, and his nose tickling, Dean left the vaults and made his way back to the kitchen, intent on a sandwich, pleased that he could still enjoy hunger and food. For now, at least.

What he didn’t expect was to run into Cas sitting at the table, sipping delicately at a mug of coffee from the smell of it. They acknowledged each other with slight nods, but while Cas broke off the stare to concentrate on the fingers wrapped around his mug, Dean planted his hands on his hips and glared.

“You look like shit,” he said, and Cas frowned. He couldn’t deny it, Dean knew. Cas’s skin glowed with a sickly pallor under the florescent lights, and his eyes were sunken with dark bags hanging under them. His hair was its usual disheveled mess, but it didn’t look clean, and his posture was stiff, hunched, as he sat in the chair, folding in on himself as if to ward off pain.

Cas sighed and glanced over at Dean, appraising him with a furrow between his brows.

“Well, you also look…like shit,” he said lamely, and Dean let himself grin for a second, amused at hearing Cas swear.

“Why thank you,” he said, sweeping into a mock bow. His grin became brittle, and he quickly sucked it back in and turned to the fridge, removing ham and cheese and mayonnaise.

“Is the Mark…?” Cas started from behind him, and Dean scoffed, his back still turned to Cas as he pulled out a plate and knife.

“What do you think? You didn’t get rid of it, so of course it’s coming back.”

There was quiet for a moment before Cas spoke, his voice certain, “Then Sam and I will prepare for the cure again. We won’t let it get too far this time.”

“And how about next time?” Dean said, swiveling to glare at Cas and slamming the mayonnaise jar down a little too hard. It clanged loudly on the metal countertop, causing Cas to flinch. “And the time after that?” Dean continued. “And after that? How many times do I gotta go bad before someone puts me down, permanently?”

Cas’s jaw tightened, and his eyes filled with rage. “It will not come to that.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for _you_ to let yourself go, but if I talk about ending it all, oh no! That’s not allowed! Hypocrite, much?”

“The difference is that—” Cas sternly began, but Dean cut him off.

“Is what? You didn’t choose to have your Grace ripped out. But I _chose_ to have the Mark. Remember? So why is it that I deserve to live, but you don’t?”

“Dean…” Cas said, deflating. He looked so tired all of a sudden, all his righteous fury blowing out of him like a balloon losing air.           

“No, Cas, I don’t get it. When I told you I needed you, I fucking _meant_ it. And I don’t give a shit anymore if you listen to me or don’t think you can trust me. The fact is that you’re my…you’re family, okay? You forgive and forget.” Dean’s eyes stubbornly trained on the floor. “I want you here, man. Angel, human, whatever. I just...”

“I want to be here,” Cas spoke up softly. Dean’s head shot up and their eyes met. Cas gave him a small smile. “I do. But I also understand why…I may not be allowed to stay.”

“That shit with Gadreel is over. You can stay—”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“If you say that this is what you deserve or that you’re doing penance by dying, I swear to god, Cas…”

Cas huffed out a laugh at that. “Hannah told me much of the same.”

At that moment Sam shuffled in, stifling a yawn and effectively breaking the tension between them. He glanced between Dean and Cas and narrowed in on Dean’s sandwich supplies.

“Oh, cool. You making lunch?” he said in an affectedly positive voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Not for _you_ , you jerk. Get your own.”

“Aw come on, Dean. You make them better than I do—”

“You’re damn right I do. But that doesn’t make me your slave.”

“And yet here I thought the Leia costume I bought you would come in handy.”

As Dean shoved Sam with a growled, _“Bitch,”_ there was sputtering from Cas who was trying to laugh, though it quickly turned into a harsh coughing fit. He bent practically in half, hacking, and though Dean’s gut squeezed, he remained where he was, letting Sam go comfort Cas by rubbing his back.

“Hey, Dean, get him some water.”

“Yup,” Dean said, filling a glass and plopping it in front of Cas so hard that water sloshed over the edge. Sam shot him a glare but Dean ignored it. It took far too long for Cas to return to normal breaths, and even then, he wheezed as he drank the water Dean had provided.

“Thank you,” Cas gritted out after a few ragged inhales. He smiled at Sam but the smile had faded by the time it landed on Dean.

“What’re you even doing here, man?” Dean said tightly to Cas, and Sam sighed.

“Dean, don’t,” he warned, but Dean forged ahead heedlessly, stalking over to Cas and standing over him, his eyes fierce.

“Why are you even here? You wanted us to take care of you before you went belly up? Huh? Is that it? Because you’ve got another thing coming!”

Cas’s eyes flashed. “Is it so terrible that I sought solace with my family before I, as you so eloquently put it, went belly up?”

Dean’s mouth parted on the word ‘family,’ but he couldn’t say anything before Cas plowed on.

“And yes, that might have been part of my reasoning for coming here, but I want to help, while I can. I don’t want to see you become a demon again.”

“Yeah, you saw enough of that the first time, right?” Dean snapped, and Sam stiffened, looking over with sad puppy eyes. Dean threw his hands up and burst out of the kitchen, leaving all his foodstuffs behind. The Mark was pounding in his head, in time with his heartbeat, and before Dean knew what he was doing, he was digging his nails into the flesh, gouging at it, not even feeling the pain but thrilling at the lines of blood that beaded to the surface.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he came back to himself in one of the hallways. But then there was a gasp and gentle fingers pried his hand away. Dean expected it to be Sam, but it was Cas, and his hands were warm as he captured Dean’s bloody ones with his own, gently steering him back to the kitchen, where Sam was already wetting a washcloth. Cas guided Dean to a chair and he sat, the sounds in his head fading. For some stupid reason he wanted to cry, but he didn’t, so he just sat there numbly while Sam bandaged him up. Dimly, he realized that Cas was still holding his hand, and he swore that if he weren’t so tired, he’d have yanked it back already.

As it was, it was a nice hand. Big, solid, warm, a little rough from Jimmy’s life, and maybe some of Cas’s too. Dean hated that he was getting blood on it, and that’s what finally made him pull away. Cas let him go, and the moment was over.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Dean had promised Sam that he would try to stop drinking as much, and so he did, but that didn’t make things any easier. In fact, when he would normally throw back a finger or two, or heck, maybe a whole goddamn _hand_ of whiskey, he found himself in the basement instead, trying to stay distracted with work lest the endless piles of crap in his brain spill over.

Easier said than done, that was for sure, especially with the Mark demanding blood.

And what was the point of this, anyways? Were they really expecting to find some easy, magical solution to fix their problems? When had they ever had that kind of luck – and luck that had no strings attached?

Dean was just about to pack it in for the day, having stared enough at these four concrete walls to go insane, before a glint caught his eye. It wasn’t a box on the shelf. It was something below the shelf on the floor, something circular, like a coin. He huffed to himself. Maybe he’d find a penny from 1958 or whenever and sell it to some asshole on Ebay for a stupid amount. They certainly could use the spare change, now that they had holed themselves up and weren’t hustling as much.

Stooping to grab it, Dean’s fingers closed on a coin, but not just one coin; it appeared that two had fused together. Straightening, he held it up to the light and saw two faces engraved into the silver. They were identical, with curly hair and big eyes, and they overlapped each other at the exact point where the two coins became one, forming an ‘O’ shape with their heads. When Dean flipped it over, there was a picture of two helmeted horsemen carrying spears. Etched underneath it was a symbol that reminded him of the Roman numeral “II.”

There came the sound of shuffling footsteps, and Dean turned to see Cas enter the vaults, squinting in the dim, flickering light.

“Hey,” Dean said, embarrassed about earlier, though Cas made no mention of it. He simply took in Dean’s progress, his gaze falling on the stacks upon stacks of items still left to go through.

“You’ve been down here a while. Have you found anything?” he asked, and Dean scoffed.

“I would’ve come running if I did. Though I just picked this up off the floor.” He opened his palm to show Cas the coin. Cas leaned in to inspect it, so Dean held it out for him to take.

“You ever see this befo—?” he started asking, but the second Cas touched the coin, it exploded. Or maybe it was just that Dean’s world exploded, because there was instantaneous searing pain in his whole body, making him scream, and he wanted to shut his eyes because it was so bright, _too_ bright, and he was burning up with it. He couldn’t breathe, and the light kept pulsing like it would never end. He realized, belatedly, that his eyes were already closed but it didn’t matter because the light still bled through.

All it once, it was like his whole body slammed into an invisible wall. He didn’t know if it happened literally or metaphorically, but he lay, stunned, for a long time, the light slowly receding. He was aware that someone was screaming and it sounded like Cas, and oh god, what had just happened?

“Cas!” Dean choked when the screaming stopped, because either he was crazy or something was horribly wrong with his voice. Groggily, he opened his eyes, confused as to why he was on the left of Cas when he had been on the right before. Or at least he thought he had been. Nothing made sense, and his head was still buzzing and his eyes were still burning, tearing up. He felt heavy and uncomfortable and wrong, but before he could assess himself any further, Sam was there.

“Dean! DEAN!” he shouted, and Dean reached out to his brother, only Sam was skidding to a halt beside Cas and that was…weird.

“Sam,” Dean croaked, trying again, but his voice still wasn’t working right. Sam’s head whipped around, and he hurriedly crawled over to Dean.

“Shit, Cas, are you okay? What the hell happened?” Sam asked.

“I’m not…what? It’s me,” Dean said, and just as the words left his mouth, he registered how strange his jaw felt. When he reached up to touch it, it felt squarer, and with much more stubble. He could’ve sworn that he had shaved that morning. “What the hell…?” he breathed, and that’s when Sam’s eyes widened.

“Dean?” he said slowly, and Dean frowned at him.

“Yeah. Way to make a guy feel loved.” He grimaced, massaging his throat. Okay, so he needed a lozenge or two, because his throat was seriously messed up. Sitting up, he squirmed, still feeling… _wrong_ somehow. It was like his limbs weighed more than he remembered, and that’s when he noticed the clothes he was wearing.

Black slacks. A white button-down shirt. A brown _trench coat_.

“Oh my god,” he said, because Sam was still ogling him and he thought he knew why. Glancing over at ‘Cas’ confirmed it.

“What the flying fuck. Why the fuck am I in Cas’s body?”

It was then that ‘Cas’ began to stir, only it was the greatest mindfuck Dean had ever witnessed because it was _his body moving without him in it_. Cas sat up, bewildered, and Dean was horrified to recognize the very Cas-like expression on his own face, especially when he squinted at Dean, cocking his head.

“What happened?” he asked, and yeah, _that_ was Dean’s voice. What the ever-loving shit.

“Oh. We appear to have switched bodies,” Cas continued after moment, lifting up his hands and regarding them closely. Dean supposed it probably wasn’t as weird for Cas to be in a new body, since he had taken different vessels before and had had to accommodate for them each time. But for Dean, well, wearing Cas meant he was actually wearing Jimmy, and now he knew what Jimmy’s junk felt like.

Dean was going to throw up.

Before he could get up and bolt from the room, though, Cas found the coin where it had dropped on the floor.

“We switched bodies when we both touched it at the same time,” he said, and Sam wisely did not reach for it, though he peered at it as Cas held it up.

“They’re fused. Do you know who the faces are?”

“Based on the symbol on the back, this is a Gemini Coin,” Cas said as if that was obvious.

“Right. A Gemini Coin. Clearly,” Dean said, and it was very strange to be doing sarcasm in Cas’s deep, righteous voice. In fact, it made Dean snort, which only made him think of Cas snorting, and then he was all out laughing. It was an odd feeling. When was the last time he had laughed? Definitely not since—

Sucking in a huge breath, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest, Dean rolled up the sleeve on his right arm.

The skin was blank. No Mark to be seen. He let out a breath and then glanced at Cas, who held up his right arm.

The Mark was there, but something was different about it.

“It’s black,” Sam said, stating the obvious. Dean awkwardly shuffled over to look, and saw that, where the Mark had once stood out, red and angry, against his skin, now it was faded like a normal tattoo. Not only that, but it was completely black, and when Dean reached out to touch it, the black smeared and then the whole thing vanished. He blinked down at it in sudden, stunned silence.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe it. It’s gone. It’s _gone_ ,” Dean breathed, and he let himself smile, _really_ smile, for what felt like the first time in years. Sam mirrored his expression, and Cas timidly tried it too, though there was still concern in his features.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, and then a sound rippled through the air.

Cas gripped his – _Dean’s_ – stomach.

“I’m hungry,” he said, lifting his eyes. There was a sense of loss in his face, and Dean’s heart fell.

“Shit. You’re human,” he said, and Cas nodded slowly.

Sam let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his haunches. “So, the Mark’s gone then? For good? And Cas is human?”

Cas frowned. “My Grace must’ve…canceled it out.”

“How? It wasn’t even _your_ Grace originally,” Sam said, and Dean cut him off before he could say anything else.

“Who cares _how_ it happened! It _happened_! It’s gone, and we’re all still standing!” He huffed. “Maybe not in the right bodies, but you know what I mean. We’re never this lucky. I call this a victory!”

Sam glanced at him, skepticism and hope warring on his face. “That’s just the thing though. We’re never this lucky. There’s gotta be some sort of catch.”

Dean shrugged, and wow, Cas had super wide shoulders. No wonder the guy looked so awkward trying to shrug like a normal human being.

“We should do some research, make sure we know what we’re getting ourselves into,” Sam said.

Dean accepted the dig for what it was, but honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to snap back with a witty retort. His head felt lighter than it had in ages, and there were no voices whispering for him to kill, to maim, to torture. The Mark was gone.

 _The Mark was gone_.

He felt practically giddy with relief.

"Yeah, well you’re the one that body-swapped before. You tell us how it works.” Dean smirked when Sam shuddered.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. This is weird enough.”

“Perhaps touching the coin again will return us to our own bodies,” Cas suggested. He had been turning it over and over in his hands while Sam and Dean conversed, and now he held it out to Dean.

“Alright. Here goes nothing.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself as he hesitantly touched the coin.

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes and met Cas’s thoughtful gaze as Sam plucked the coin out of their grasps.

“So what’s wrong with it? Why can’t we change back?” Dean asked,

“No idea,” Sam said, examining it.

“Perhaps it was only built for one charge,” Cas said.

“Does that mean it needs to be powered up again?”

Cas frowned, his face – _Dean’s_ face – doing some crazy calisthenics. “I’m not certain. I only encountered such a coin once, and my memory is…” he trailed off.

“Human,” Dean filled in for him. “So, crappy.”

“Yes. Apologies.”

“Hey, man, no apologies necessary. The Mark’s gone. That’s all I could ask for.” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder, mentally wincing at how strange it was to be touching his own body but from the outside. Still, despite the weirdness of it all, Dean found himself smiling, his mood brightening when a small smile played about Cas’s lips as well.

Well, it wasn’t everything Dean could ask for, but hey, maybe Cas would be able to stick around this time.

“Alright, I’m gonna hit the books again, see if I can find anything more out about the Gemini Coin,” Sam announced, standing, his knees cracking. Dean followed his example, though he was a little off balance, as if he was standing on a boat. He gripped Sam’s arm for support and reached down with the other to help Cas to his feet, though Cas didn’t appear to have any trouble adjusting to his new body. Dean pulled a face and the three of them made their way out of the vaults.

Where Sam veered to the library, Dean dragged Cas to the kitchen instead.

“You’ve gotta take care of the goods, man,” he said. “That includes staying fed. I’m still a growing boy.” He poked his body in the chest, and yeah, it was still weird.

“Your body is far past its adolescent growing stage,” Cas said, and Dean sighed.

“It’s an expression, dude. Just take care of my body, and I’ll take care of Jimmy here.” Dean turned to the fridge, but when Cas spoke up in a somber voice, he turned back around.

“It’s not Jimmy’s anymore.”                          

Dean’s mouth opened and he leaned back on the counter. “So…he’s gone?”

Cas stared at the floor. “His soul passed to Heaven after I was killed by Raphael.”

“Wow. That was…years ago.”

Cas’s face was infinitely sad. “Yes. And now that vessel is…empty. With my true form gone as well, Jimmy’s body is all I have. So…I suppose it’s mine now.”

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Cas. You got a shitty deal.”

“It was my own fault for listening to Metatron when I should’ve listened to you.”

“Water under the bridge.”

Cas just sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I should go help Sam.” Before Dean could stop him, he had pivoted on his heel and left. Dean stared after him, bitterly amused that he could still vanish so quickly even without wings. Of course, what had he been expecting?

Settling in, Dean decided to make lunch. Er, actually dinner, considering the late hour. He opted for a quick pasta dish, and got to chopping some garlic cloves, an onion, and the rest of the mushrooms before they spoiled. Yeah, yeah, it was vegetarian, but his creamy alfredo sauce made Emeril look like a hack.

The problem was, the skills he had learned in the kitchen applied to _his own body_. Cas’s body was just…different, and for some reason, what should’ve been familiar, even comforting tasks, became frustrating and time-consuming.

“I need my body back ASAP,” he grumbled to himself, finally finishing with the prep after what felt like ages before moving on to the actual cooking. The delicious smells eventually attracted Sam and Cas, though Cas wouldn’t look at him and instead went to set the table.

Glancing peripherally at the pasta, which was almost done boiling, Dean was transfixed for a moment, just watching Cas. He moved like he had before in Jimmy’s body, but to see it translated into Dean’s real body was strange, though he was jealous of Cas’s fluidity. There Cas was, graceful without Grace, while Dean was still clunking around, knocking things over because he wasn’t used to how wide his hips were, or how far his arms actually reached.

It was downright embarrassing.

Though, he wasn’t stupid enough not to have perspective. He’d far rather deal with these kinds of problems than the Mark again, or Cas’s impending death due to some sort of Grace implosion. They had really dodged a bullet. Or at least, he thought that until Sam, after swallowing a mouthful of alfredo, told them what he had found so far.

“Okay, so, get this: Gemini Coins were actually super popular in ancient Greece. Apparently, they were used by solders to strengthen their bonds with each other. They were usually exchanged between brothers and especially twins, though they were also given to lovers.”

He paused dramatically, and Dean knew he was thinking about the Supernatural musical. If Sam said anything about ‘Destiel,’ so help him god, he could not be considered accountable for his actions.

But Sam said nothing, a slight quirk to his lips as if he knew Dean could read his mind. Though, while Dean was annoyed as fuck, it was good to see actual humor in Sam’s eyes again. He wasn’t the only one feeling giddy now that their biggest problems had been solved.

“Yeah, so they were mostly just regular coins,” Sam continued. “No magic whatsoever. But some of them, the ones that were fused like the one you found, were charged not with body-swapping, but with _soul_ -swapping abilities, though only one go per coin. It’s powerful magic, so that’s all the coins could handle. Soldiers would use them for covert missions, or for training to learn how to adapt to new situations.”

Dean interrupted him with a groan, swiping a large hand down his face, catching on his stubble and becoming distracted. Wait, were Cas’s hands always that big? And he was going to need to shave if he was going to be in this body for a while.

Dean sighed, shaking himself and trying to remember why he had groaned. Oh, yeah.

“Don’t tell me,” he started. “It was witches who made the coins.”

Sam gave a half-shrug/half-nod in confirmation. “Basically. Ones blessed by Hecate, the Greek goddess of witchcraft.” He quickly shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth, and hell yeah, Dean was an awesome cook. Dean glanced at Cas, who was politely dabbing his face with a napkin. Jesus, Dean had never been so… _dainty_ in his body before. It was seriously freaking him out.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” he asked, noticing how much Cas had left on his plate.

“Nothing.”

“That’s crap. You can’t lie in my body either.”

Cas grimaced, lifting his eyes, and Dean found himself really missing his good ole baby blues. Of course, all he needed to do was look in the mirror, but that wasn’t the same by any means. Instead, he got to stare at his own face and all the freckles there. And wow, his eyes were greener than he remembered.

“It’s just…” Cas started, struggling for words. “I shouldn’t have a soul. The coin should not have worked on me.”

“But how can you not have a soul?” Dean asked.

“Angels don’t come with souls. We are—”

“Yeah, yeah –  multidimensional _wavelengths_  of  _celestial_  intent, right?”

Cas huffed. “Yes. And as such, we don’t possess souls in the normal human capacity. These coins were created for humans, specifically those with…” his voice trailed off again.

Sam sniggered and ended up choking, taking one look at Dean’s offended expression before clearing his throat, far too gleeful.

“Those with profound bonds,” he supplied at last.

Dean barely refrained from slapping himself. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  

Sam grinned knowingly, but quickly sobered. “Yeah. So it makes sense, uh for you two, even if Cas doesn’t – didn’t? – have a soul. The problem is that—”

“Ah. Here’s the catch.”

Sam assumed a grudging expression. “—the effects of the coin are only temporary. You’re supposed to possess a pair, because one does the swap, and the other returns you back to your original body.”

“Okay, so we find the other coin,” Dean began, but Sam wasn’t finished.

“ _If_ we have another one. Which, we’ll have to find within 30 days. Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or kablooey. Soul explosion.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Sounds fun.”

“Soul magic is powerful, and should not be tampered with,” Cas spoke up suddenly, and this time, he wore a bitter smirk. “I learned that the hard way.”

Silence descended on the room, taking with it their good humor, and Dean took a long sip of water before snapping at Cas to finish his plate because he needed the energy.

Cas dutifully obeyed, scooping bite after bite into his mouth and chewing almost mechanically until it was all gone. Dean just glared at him like an angry parent forcing their kid to eat their vegetables. Sam took the opportunity to slink away – though Dean was totally going to find him later and nag him into doing the dishes – and then it was just the two of them, the only sound the humming of the refrigerator.

“You gotta stop doing that to yourself, man,” Dean said at last, relaxing into his chair. Which was hilarious, coming from him, he knew. He was far from a guiltless man, but without the weight of the Mark on him, it almost felt…it almost felt like he could begin to let crap go and start over. He had meant what he said, about water under the bridge. But Cas, newly human, body-swapped Cas, was probably dealing with a lot of mental issues he hadn’t had to worry about before, even as an angel with borrowed Grace.

For a long moment, Dean thought Cas was going to get up and leave, but he surprised Dean by smiling.

“Are you telling me to ‘Let it Go?’” Cas emphasized the phrase with air quotes, but Dean just stared at him.

“Uh, yeah. I am.”

Cas squinted. “That was a Frozen reference, you know.”

“Frozen? What the hell is—?” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that Disney movie? Dude, there is _no_ need to quote Disney at me right now. What the hell.”

“Metatron _did_ blast me with pop culture knowledge, so I thought I’d use it,” Cas said. He was smiling fully now, and Dean wished it had been in his usual body, complete with the crinkling of his eyes and the gums showing around his teeth. He was already tired of staring at his ugly mug. They really needed to get their bodies back, pronto.

As Cas pushed back from the table, he rose and deposited his plate in the sink.

“Thank you for dinner, Dean. It was delicious.”

“Not just molecules this time, huh?”

“No. It was…truly wonderful. Compared to the food I previously ate as a human, it was vastly superior.”

Dean blushed. A part of him ached at the thought of Cas eating junk because of Dean’s fuck-up with Gadreel forcing Cas out of the bunker. Dean knew he was a hypocrite for dwelling on the past, but that was probably in his top five regrets of all time. The look Cas had given him…god, that look had haunted him for days. _Weeks_.

Cas was apparently thinking along similar lines, as he said, “I think I’d like to take a shower now. I remember the water pressure here being very pleasurable.”

“Oh yeah, it’s fantastic. Go nuts, dude,” Dean said, not realizing his oddly appropriate phrasing until Cas smiled at him and exited the kitchen, leaving Dean to realize that that meant Cas was going to get a look at his junk. _Dean’s_ junk. And sure, the guy had pulled him from Hell and rebuilt his body or whatever, but…but this was different!

Dean had half a mind to go yell after him, tell him to hold on just a minute, but he stopped himself.

Because he just realized that while Cas could look at his junk…Dean could look at _his_.

If Dean were being honest with himself, he had been curious about it since the first moment they switched. He had had a lot on his mind, though, and it wasn’t like this was an appropriate thing to think about. Number 1) did consent apply when it technically wasn’t your own body? Number 2) Dean didn’t swing that way. Yeah, he had had a few…dreams over the years, but it was wrong for him to be into another guy. Especially considering some of the things he had done to make money back in the day. Nothing too serious, obviously, and nothing unsafe, but it was still disgusting…

Except for the few times it wasn’t.

Dean closed his eyes. Now was not the time for this. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t _fucking gay_ and he certainly wasn’t _bi_ or whatever other stupid labels existed.

Only…weird. The voice that insisted that he was 100% straight didn’t sound like his own.

Dean shook his head to dispel those thoughts and wandered to his bedroom, his heart pounding for no reason. He had already decided that it was wrong, so he wasn’t going to look. But he would need to change clothes at some point, right? Cas had been wearing these clothes for who knew how long, and though he had been able to keep them immaculate as an angel, when his juice started to go, they had gotten covered in sweat and dirt real fast. Actually, they were kind of gross at this point. Cas had been dying in them, after all. Dean really needed to change.

In his room, Dean closed the door and slowly peeled off the trench coat, throwing it behind him to land on the bed with a soft _thwump_. Next came the shirt, and his hands were shaking as he undid the buttons, slipping his arms out of the sleeves. Now he was bare-chested, and while he had seen Cas like this once before – thank god for angel powers, or he’d have that banishing symbol still carved into his chest – it was still surprising. The guy wasn’t jacked, but he definitely wasn’t soft either. The muscles of his chest and stomach were firm, and Dean was horrified when another part of his anatomy twitched, warmth curling low in his gut.

“Fuck this is so weird,” he nervously breathed to himself, unable to stop from tracing the contours of his – Cas’s – pectoral muscles. Cas’s hands weren’t as calloused as Dean’s, and the smooth texture over his skin made jolts of pleasure zing to his crotch, which, okay, this was really getting out of hand. (Heh.)

Dean nearly jumped a foot in the air when his door was suddenly thrown open by none other than Cas, clad only in a towel from the waist down. Dean found himself trying to cover his still-clothed manly bits, only to realize how ridiculous that was because Cas obviously knew what they looked like even under the clothes – they were _his_ after all. Now Dean was staring at Cas in his own body, dripping wet and steaming from the shower, and there was even more action below, which was _horrifying_ on so many levels.

“Cas, what the hell? Get out of here!” he yelped, but Cas just shifted in the doorway, his expression sheepish.

“I need your clothes,” he said and, right, that was a valid point.

“Well I need yours,” Dean shot back intelligently, and they stood there awkwardly, staring at each other, until Cas finally moved to the dressers to help himself.

“Oh, uh, you’ll like those. They’re the softest,” Dean said when Cas pulled out an old pair of jeans. Cas gave Dean a small smile before Dean frowned.

“About clothes for me…you don’t have any other clothes besides the ones you were wearing, do you?”

Cas was busy poking through Dean’s drawers for a shirt and paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“No. I didn’t get the chance to acquire any.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head. “Right. Shit, sorry.”

“We were all focused on other things. It’s alright.”

“I guess we can go shopping now.” Dean huffed, smirking. “You’ll have to come, though. Pick out some stuff that you like. This is _your_ body.”  

“I’d like that. Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good.”

Cas left with several articles of clothes in hand, and Dean heaved a sigh.

Not only was he apparently attracted to himself, but now he had to piss, and he couldn’t put off the inevitable much longer.

“Man up, Winchester,” he said to himself, and then laughed bitterly. That was the wrong thing to say for this situation. Seriously. Ugh. This needed to be over soon.

Dean survived observing his body’s regular functions, though he didn’t know why he kept blushing. As Cas didn’t have any other clothes, Dean opted for some of his own baggier ones, even though they didn’t fit as he remembered. It was weird how everything felt different. Textures were strange, and so were tastes, as Dean discovered the next morning when he toasted a sesame seed bagel only to find that he didn’t really dig sesame seeds in this body. He ended up passing it to Cas when he appeared for breakfast, and Cas devoured it with a satisfied hum. Good thing Dean had made it exactly as _his_ body liked it.

It wasn’t the best way to start his morning, but it allowed Dean to channel his frustration into finding a cure. After breakfast, he, Sam, and Cas rolled up their sleeves and tackled the vaults, determined to find the coin’s other half. As it was so small, they would have to go through basically every nook and cranny, and none of them were eager for the task.

Hours passed with no results, and finally, unable to stand looking at the fortified cement walls any longer, Dean took Cas out shopping as he had promised. Sam tagged along, also wanting a break from the bunker, and they drove to the nearest mall which was almost two hours away. Dean drove, but the drive wasn’t as nice as he had imagined, because this body wasn’t used to sitting in the Impala for so long. Baby actually got _uncomfortable_ until finally, Dean was forced to pull over to let Sam drive, folding his arms over his chest and glowering out of the passenger window, ignoring Sam’s sniggering.

“You really look like Cas when you do that,” Sam commented at a red light, and Dean flipped him off. In the back seat, Cas was clearly enjoying himself, perhaps more than he ever had in the Impala.

“Your body feels much comfort in this car,” Cas said, stroking his hands over the seats. “The smells and sounds are pleasing and familiar, soothing. I like it very much.”

“Well good for you,” Dean sniped, hating that Baby was making him – _Dean –_ feel confined and jittery, like he had to get out and move.

The mall was somewhat better, though Dean had forgotten how much he hated shopping. Growing up, they had been an army surplus/salvation army store kind of family, and buying new stuff still didn’t feel right to him. The thing was, this wasn’t for _him_. This was for Cas, and Cas deserved nice, new clothes. The guy had never had any before, save for his brief stint at humanity not too long ago, but even then, his clothes had been stolen from someone else. When had he ever really owned something for himself that was brand new?

“Alright, Cas, go for it,” Dean said, releasing him into Sears. Sam had separated to check out Best Buy for some sort of update for his computer, so Dean was stuck babysitting Cas, who was positively flitting down the aisles, inspecting every piece of clothing. As it was all meant for his body, meaning Dean at this point, he would gather items in his arms and then return to Dean, holding them up to him and assessing the colors and sizes. The third time Cas did that, Dean caught a woman beaming at them and realized how _couple-y_ they looked, and quickly steered Cas toward the dressing rooms.

“Okay, how about we do this in here? I’ll try all this crap on.”

Cas nodded and released Dean to the dressing stall. The pants were all fairly standard, and as Dean tested them, they fit pretty well. They even accentuated his ass, and Cas had a nice, muscular ass—

Clearing his throat, Dean finished with the pants and started with the shirts. Inspired by the Winchesters, there was flannel thrown in, but also some rather hideous man sweaters. One of them, this giant, lumpy brown thing, looked straight out of a hippie den, and Dean did _not_ want to imagine hippie Cas from the future. Still, Cas had picked these out and Dean had told him to choose what he liked, so he couldn’t _not_ try it on. He was amazed that it was really soft and warm, and he liked how long and baggy it was.

Cas was delighted when Dean emerged wearing it, modeling it for him with a little spin. His balance was a bit off and he nearly stumbled, but Cas caught him. Dean shivered at the touch and then grimaced.

“We need to get our bodies back,” he said, and Cas’s amused expression became thoughtful.

“We will. I’m certain of it.”

 

Certain of it, _his ass_ , Dean couldn’t help but think four weeks later, still elbows deep in old crap from the Men of Letter’s vault. He felt around the old cardboard box for a coin, but all he came across was dust, dust, and more dust. Thank god the bunker was so sealed and warded that they had yet to find a cobweb or the dried husk of some dead animal, but ugh it was still gross.

Especially when they had devoted hours upon hours to searching, which quickly became days, and then weeks. On the one hand, they were cataloguing items at a ridiculous speed. But on the other, they were down to only one week before Dean and Cas would explode if they didn’t switch back to their original bodies.

By week four, they had all taken breaks from the vaults – for their sanity – by conducting more research upstairs, hitting the books and the internet with everything they could. Sam had even gone so far as to look up his old body-swap pal Gary Frankel, who was a college graduate now – but not from MIT, funnily enough. Good on him for growing some balls, but Dean knew that calling him was their last, _last_ option. So far, the kid had stayed off their radar, which meant he had (hopefully) given up the Satanism, and they didn’t want to bother him if they didn’t have to.

 Still, it all pointed to one solution: body-swapping could only be cured through magic, and magic meant witches.

Dean hated witches. But if it meant getting his body back…

These past four weeks had really done a number on his head. Re-learning basic tasks in this body had been a nightmare. One day, he had slipped out to the gun range, determined to get some air. He felt like dust had permanently lodged in his lungs, and he really didn’t want to give Cas some sort of asthma. That was _just_ what he needed now that he was human. (And hadn’t that been a fun accident? Now Cas was stuck with them, and as much as he seemed fairly well adjusted, Dean knew he wasn’t happy about having his wings clipped, especially from some stupid _coin_ that made him suffer in Dean’s meat-suit.)

Needless to say, Dean had needed a break, and, more specifically, to shoot something. Only, as it turned out, being in Cas’s body meant he didn’t possess the same muscle memory he had built over _decades_. He couldn’t aim for shit, and every shot went wide unless he was lucky. This body just couldn’t find a rhythm, and kept shaking and throwing him off.

Dean had slammed the door on the way out.

It didn’t help that Cas was always underfoot. He was in the kitchen helping Dean, as he had Dean’s years of cooking experience literally in his hands. He was there in the hallway when Dean was exiting his room, usually asking for more of Dean’s clothes. He was there when Dean was watching TV, always lingering in the doorway or sitting as far away from him as he could on their shitty secondhand couch. He was even there when Dean was coming out of the bathroom, and that only reminded him of how friggin’ _bizarre_ this whole thing was.

Though, he was getting used to Cas’s body. It felt dirty even thinking that, but it was true. Seeing the guy’s junk on a daily basis was no big deal, and yeah, okay, Cas was pretty well-endowed and Dean appreciated it but would never find out more than that. He had had a few close calls, but being aroused in this body felt… _wrong_ so he always took a cold shower or thought of Bobby naked immediately after.  

The thing was, Dean was always okay until he ran into Cas and remembered their crazy situation all over again. And with Cas being around all the time…well, it was nice, but it wasn’t going to last. Even as a human, Dean had no doubt Cas would high-tail it out of there as soon as he could. The Mark was gone, too, so there was no reason for him to stick around and make sure Dean didn’t go Dark side. As soon as this ordeal was over with, he’d *poof!* and that’d be it.  

…which was a real bummer, because despite his initial discomfort, Dean found himself actually _liking_ Cas’s body. He would miss it. And Cas, too, obviously, and the weird way it was still undoubtedly _him_ even wearing Dean’s body. He would miss all of Cas, really, and oh god, when he had turned into such a girl?

Dean shook his head, deciding that it was time for another break. The bunker vaults were getting to him again. He was partially convinced that the ventilation was purposely rigged with less oxygen and more dust.

“I’m heading up,” he announced to Cas, after locating him bent over a stack of boxes a few rows down. Great, now he was admiring his own ass. Dean pointedly glanced away.

“You wanna come? It’s been a few hours, dude.”

Cas let out a long sigh as he turned around. It was still odd to Dean to see his own body moving independently, but he was used to the expression Cas was wearing. It was straight-up exhaustion, and Dean realized with a pang that these had been pretty horrible weeks for a brand new human. Cas hadn’t even experienced anything _good_ about being a human, besides Dean’s kick-ass cooking.

They needed to get drunk.

They had stumbled upon some old wine in the vaults, as if, at one point, the Men of Letters had decided to use the basement for a normal purpose. The wine was vintage, though Dean had no idea how that made it any different. All he knew was that he wanted to drink it, despite not being a wine guy. Hey, alcohol was alcohol, right?

Wrong.

Dean had forgotten how much of a lightweight Cas had been in this body. Without the years of tolerance Dean had built, he got sloshed from barely two glasses. Hell, he was _gone_ by the time they finished the first bottle. Cas, in Dean’s body, was flushed and swaying but still in the pleasantly buzzed stage. Dean, though? He was slurring his speech, convinced the world was spinning and that everything was hilarious.

“I’feel like ‘m in a funhouse, y’know?” he said, and Cas nodded. They were seated on the couch, only this time, Cas was right next to him, their thighs brushing occasionally when Dean leaned forward. “Like, starin’ at m’self is so…’ts so friggin’ weird. Given me all kindsa thoughts.”

“Like what?”

“Like…I mean…you’ve nev’r been human but if you were, you’d wanna know if you were any good.”

“What are you talking about?” Cas asked, his brows knitting together.

“Kissing, man!” Dean said, throwing up his hands. “Or like…other stuff.”

“Other stuff? Like…sexual activities?”

“YES!” Dean said with a vigorous nod that made him blink dizzily. “Wouldn’t’even be weird. ’ts not like making out with m’self cuz I’m in here.” He pointed to himself, laughing, and Cas cocked his head.

Dean was struck with memories all of a sudden, not of Cas, but of himself growing up in that body and all the comments he had gotten, and still got, for being ‘pretty.’ When he was younger, he knew he had been serious twink material, but now, looking at his body from the outside, he could see that he was…attractive, in a mature kind of way. Sure he had some pudge around the middle, but he had grown up _good_. He remembered what his body was capable of, the strength he had, all the things he had learned and taught himself to do and, well, that was pretty incredible. His body had been broken and battered and beaten, been to Hell, Heaven, Purgatory and back, but had also stopped the Apocalypse and saved people. Yeah, it had killed people, too, but…the fact remained that it looked good. It looked…healthy, and Cas in it right now looked happy, smiling dopily, his eyes dazed and cheeks rosy. He looked so much better than before, when he had been resigned to his death. Dean didn’t know where Cas’s head was now, but… he was safe and alive and somewhat content, at least for the moment.

God, _Cas_. Dean would know Cas anywhere, no matter what form he took, and he was abruptly so _glad_ that Cas was there with him, and awfully close now. It appeared that Dean’s thoughts had him unconsciously scooting forward, pulling Cas toward him. Their foreheads met, and Dean’s energy flagged, making him want to stay in that position forever, just feeling Cas breathe on his face like a human. If only this could last.

“Hey guys, I’ve got—whoa, what’s…?” Sam said, striding into the room carrying his laptop, and Dean had the bitter word ‘cockblock’ in his mind, though that definitely wasn’t where he had been going with Cas, or where he even _wanted_ to go with Cas. Definitely not.

Sam’s mouth gaped like a fish as he stared between them, and the wine was making Dean’s head fuzzy because he was slow to pull away from Cas.

“What?” he sniped, and Sam had to shake himself, making the face he had assumed for weeks, which Dean knew was from having to physically remind himself who was who.

“Uh, right, well…I think I know who we can talk to about your um…situation.”

Dean swung his gaze over to Sam. “Uh huh. Who?”

“James. You remember him? And Portia?”

Dean just groaned.

“Who are they?” Cas asked, and Dean commenced zoning out for the rest of the evening, letting Sam explain. They made plans, but he was so far gone that the next time he was aware of anything, he was draped over cold, white porcelain, and he was heaving into it.

Ugh. Stupid body.

 

In the morning Dean nursed a terrible hangover, cursing the florescent lights and all the noise of the ventilation system. Could the Men of Letters have made things _any louder or brighter_?

Cas appeared to be faring just fine, which was all well and good, because they had to hit the road to meet James.

He had been lying low since they last saw him, and though they hadn’t parted on friendly terms, they had at least been allies, so it was worth a shot – especially since the deadline was looming.

They were meeting him in Idaho, so it was a long drive, and Dean took the time to slump in the backseat and sleep off his hangover. He still didn’t feel 100% when they paused for fuel at a rest stop, but it was wearing off some. He waved blearily at Sam and Cas before heading for the convenience store, wanting to grab some beef jerky. A few steps toward the door, he heard footsteps and Cas trotted up next to him.

“I’m hungry as well,” he said, and Dean smirked at him.

“Good. Getting used to it, huh?”

Cas nodded. “I recognize it much better now. I think I want…something with fruit.”

“You should try pie,” Dean said. “That body will love you for it.”

A bell hanging from the glass door tingled as they entered, and immediately Dean steered toward the snack aisle, dragging Cas with him. They were perusing the choices, and Dean was explaining what was best – at least in his body’s experience – when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he and Cas both turned to see a man standing in the aisle. The only notable thing about him was that his eyes were bloodshot, and that he was white and short.

“Castiel,” he said, his eyes raking over Dean. “You have Fallen completely. I do not even sense Grace within you. You are truly human.”

Cas stepped forward, but Dean stuck out a hand to hold him back.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he said carefully, and the man, presumably a former angel, stepped forward.

“It matters not who I am. Only that it is miraculous to have come upon you here on this plane.”

Dean cast a glance back at Cas, but Cas looked just as confused. Without Grace, there was no way of telling who he was.

“Brother,” Cas started to say, but the guy was narrowed in on Dean, and before they could make a move – Dean blamed his poor reaction time on his lingering hangover – there was the silver glint of an angel blade, and then it was sliding through Dean’s gut.

Dean’s first thought was, _seriously, again?_ before the familiar pain registered and he doubled over, his hands clasping at the wound and feeling warm liquid running over them. Really, was he destined to die on an angel blade or something? This was just getting ridiculous.

Distantly he registered the sound of a fight and then screaming and someone shouting numbers. Man, he had thought the universe was on his side for once, seeing as it had dealt with the Mark and Cas’s Grace so nicely. But yeah, he really should’ve expected this.

 The universe would never be on his side.

“Dean, _Dean_!” came Cas’s voice, or rather his own, since Cas was still in Dean’s body, leaning over him and pressing his hands against his abdomen as if that would staunch the blood. This sucked. Metatron had pierced his chest, but this hack had gotten him in the gut and well, that was going to take longer to die from. Still, it was hard to breathe, especially with Cas poking and prodding him, practically vibrating out of his skin with helplessness.

“Dean, no, you can’t… Please no…” he chanted, and Dean grabbed Cas’s hand, his hand, to cease its frantic movements.

“Dude,” he breathed, and Cas stilled, his eyes wide and watery as he regarded him. Dean wanted to tell him that it was okay, that it was unfair, obviously, but that he was used to it. Only, as he gazed at Cas staring down at him through his own green eyes, his heart gave a desperate lurch. He didn’t want to go, not without Cas. Cas was terrified of not having a soul, and if that was the case, what if he never ended up in Heaven? Not that Dean was guaranteed a Heaven, but he had hoped that he would see Cas there, the _real_ Cas and not some hallucination or memory. It was a stupid hope, especially since he didn’t know if Cas even felt the same way. After all, their relationship hadn’t been smooth by any means, but he, at least, hadn’t lied when he said he wanted Cas, cursed or not.

“Dean, I can’t…I can’t save you,” Cas said, his voice breaking as he clutched Dean’s hand, squeezing tight. “I’m so sorry. I don’t…I’m useless.”

“Not useless,” Dean said tightly, grimacing. “Just glad you’re here, man,” he added, slumping as a chilling numbness swept through his body. His vision was starting to go in and out, and he wondered about Sam, knowing he would soon come in only to witness his brother’s death yet again. What a fucking trip, their family was. Freakin’ dying all the time. A smile tugged at his lips, but then he looked up at Cas and remembered whose body he was in, and how, when he died, Cas _would_ be soon to follow when his soul gave up in Dean’s body.

“Oh Dean, this should’ve been me,” Cas said hollowly.

Dean shook his head. “No, my fault. M’sorry, Cas,” he mumbled before growing angry. Sure, Cas had fucked up a lot, _a lot_ , but he didn’t deserve to go out riding Dean’s meat-suit. He deserved better. His blood pounded in his ears, growing more sluggish by the minute, and he could feel his grip in Cas’s hand fading. No, damnit! He didn’t want Cas to die. Sure, he wanted to meet Cas in Heaven but…but not until he had gotten a chance to _live_ first.

All of a sudden, time stopped. Dean could still blink, but his body no longer breathed. Cas appeared in a similar state, glancing around in confusion. Dean was finally able to see the signs of a fight on his face – a bruised cheekbone, a puffy lip. What had happened to the renegade angel who had stabbed him? Not like it mattered at this point, but he hoped Cas had gotten in a good punch at least.

There came the sound of what seemed like hoof beats, and then there were two horses right there in the convenience store, and the shelves were gone and it was really just a blank, white room with Dean lying in the center and Cas kneeling beside him. The two horses were saddled and carried riders bedecked in armor, complete with matching helmets and spears. Blond curls poked out from under their helmets as the riders – both men, and twins from the looks of it – dismounted in sync, leaving their horses to paw at the ground.

The men were tall and startlingly white with bulging, exposed calves around the greaves gracing their lower legs, ending at the ankles to reveal bare feet. They padded over to Dean and Cas, glancing at each other before eyeing the pair on the floor.

“I had thought there were no coins left,” one of them commented, and the other snorted.

“You thought wrong, brother. Didn’t I tell you they weren’t all accounted for?”

 “Well, yes, but—”

“But nothing. I’ve won.”

The original brother rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Ha, lucky indeed.”

“Uh, who are you?” Dean asked, sitting up. He was still grievously injured, but he didn’t feel pain anymore, and the freezing of time had stopped the bleeding, oddly enough. He frowned. “Wait, am I dead?”

The first brother laughed. “Not quite, human. I am Pollux. This is my brother, Castor.” He used his spear to point.

Castor inclined his head, and Cas spoke up.

“You are the brothers on the Gemini Coin.”  

“Very good,” Pollux said. “Of course, a former angel would know, I should hope. Though it appears that you’ve given up your immortality, as I once begged to when my own mortal brother was dying.”

“He didn’t give it up,” Dean interrupted, indignant on Cas’s behalf. “It was taken from him. Well, then he got it back, but then your coin took it from him again when we switched.”

The twins’ eyebrows rose.

“Your profound bond has truly been tested,” Castor said, regarding them appreciatively. “You would die for each other, and _have_ died for each other. You would give up your mortality, or immortality, to be with each other. Fascinating. I can see why the coin worked so well.”

Dean squirmed, avoiding Cas’s eyes. He ignored Castor’s comments, not wanting to deal with the implications of what he had said, and demanded, “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“Our realm in the sky,” Pollux said. “This is our home.”

“Wait, are we in your _constellation_?”

Pollux shrugged. “If it’s easier for you to understand that, then yes, to some extent we are. This is where we were sent to live an eternity together, after I was able to share my immortality to prevent Castor from perishing.”

“It has been a long time since we have had visitors,” Castor commented.

Dean frowned. “But _you_ came to _us_.”

“The coin’s power drew us to you, and we brought you here. The coins are our only connection to the mortal world.”

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “Okay, so now what? I’m kind of busy dying, here.”

Pollux’s eyes lit up. “Ah, yes, of course! We can help you with that.”

“I was dying once, long ago,” Castor said. “Pollux is the reason I’m still here and not in Elysium.”

“So?” Dean said.

“So, if your angel here were at his full power, he would do what Pollux did, and bring me back to life.”

“Since he can’t do that,” Pollux continued where his brother left off, “we’re going to do it instead.”

“It’s only right. Your bond is proven.”                                                     

Castor reached down to Dean, but he shifted away. “Can you give Cas his Grace back?”

“That is not possible. But we can do this,” Castor said, and grabbing Pollux’s hand, they reached out with their free hands and touched their palms to Dean’s and Cas’s foreheads. There was a blinding light and Dean’s head felt fuzzy, like he had consumed too much alcohol. He couldn’t see straight, and he groped out with his hand only to snap his head up when the light faded.  

Inhaling a lungful of breath, he stared blearily at the walls of the bunker, blinking slowly.

“Uhh…” he started, but then his eyes widened at the familiar sound. His voice! He held up his hands and then glanced down at himself, grinning. “I’m me! I’m back! I’m…Cas?” He whirled around only to find Cas sitting behind him in a similar state, once again inhabiting Jimmy’s body. God, what a relief to see those blue eyes meeting his, the quirk of his lips as Cas regarded him.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, and oh, yeah, Dean had been dying not too long ago. He quickly inspected himself.

“Looks like I’m all good. You?”

“I’m unharmed.”

Dean let out a relieved breath. “Good.”

There was silence for a moment, interrupted by a piercing ringing coming from Cas’s pocket. Frowning, Cas pulled out Dean’s phone.

“It’s Sam.”

“Oh, shit,” Dean said, holding out his hand. Cas gave it to him, their fingers brushing. Dean had the sudden compulsion to go all the way, intertwine his _true_ fingers in Cas’s. He knew what it was like to wield those hands, and he couldn’t remember holding them with his real body. He wanted to know what they felt like, but there was the ringing phone and his brother to consider first, so Dean answered the call.

“Dean! What the hell? Where the hell are you?! Is Cas—”

“We’re at the bunker,” Dean interrupted, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the floor between him and Cas. “I just put you on speaker. We, uh, sort of ran into trouble…”

Together, Dean and Cas explained what had happened. When it was over, Sam let out a sigh.

“Wow. You guys really lucked out with your profound bond thing.”

Dean scowled. “Really? After all that, _that’s_ what you have to say?” He could practically hear Sam smirking, and he growled, “Oh shut up!

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it! Now just get your ass back here so we can…” Dean trailed off when he realized that they actually had nothing planned, and no imminent problems to solve. The Mark was gone, Cas had Fallen, but was safe and alive as a human. No one was dying, the world wasn’t ending, so what was there left to do? There was always still hunting but…nothing urgent. There were other hunters out there, and though it would never be completely quiet, they _could_ take a break from it, right? Just for a little while, if they wanted to? The universe owed them that much.

Maybe…maybe Dean could have this. Maybe _they_ could have this.

Just thinking that left him breathless, and it was Cas who answered Sam when he said he’d head out after canceling plans with James.

“Drive safely, Sam. We’ll be waiting when you get here.”

Sam made an affirmative noise. “Yeah. Got it.” He let out a snort. “Man, I gotta say it’s nice hearing your real voices again. Dean speaking with Cas’s voice was seriously messing with my head.”

Dean chuckled at that and then outright laughed, remembering some of the filthier things he had said with that gravelly voice. His smile wiped from his face when he realized that he could hear those things again, but in a whole new context. He stared at Cas, who was pressing the end call button. Dean’s mouth was dry, and when Cas eyed him, he couldn’t stop his gaze from darting down to Cas’s crotch. He knew what it  looked like, but he wanted to…see it again.

Suddenly it hit him that Sam wouldn’t be home for _hours_. He could.. _they_ could…

But how long was Cas planning on staying, exactly? Was he going to wait till Sam got back and then fuck off to who knows where? Swallowing heavily, Dean forcibly stamped down the flames of arousal curling in his gut.

“Dean?” Cas asked, cocking his head, and Dean wanted to cry because _that_ was how it looked. _That_ was Cas.

“It’s nothing. Just…thinking of future plans, you know? Now that I’m not going to be a demon and you’re not dying.” He shifted and grinned, loving how automatically his body moved as he expected. There would be no more surprises, thank god. Standing up, he turned back to help Cas to his feet and they both left the hallway, aiming for the living room.

“What a weird fucking day,” Dean said, sinking into the couch. Cas hovered in front of it, his eyes fixating on the spot beside Dean, though he hesitated. Dean patted the cushion and Cas sat, close enough for their thighs to touch. They sat stiffly for a few agonizing minutes, and all the while Dean’s heart was beating a rapid staccato. His mouth tasted like acid, but he forced his arm up and around, slinging it over Cas’s shoulders and then drawing him close. Cas froze at the initial contact and Dean’s heart stopped, but then Cas melted into the embrace, tucking his head against Dean’s neck. Dean leaned his cheek on Cas’s hair, smelling the shampoo Dean had used that morning.

“This is so weird,” he breathed, and Cas stiffened.

“I-I’m—”

“No, no, not this!” Dean said quickly, squeezing Cas tighter as he tried to get up. Cas curled back against him and Dean turned to breathe in his hair. “No, _this_ is…” He swallowed. “This is really nice. I’m just talking about our body-swapping thing. You smell good, but that’s because I was the one who took a shower and put deodorant on, you know?”

Cas hummed in agreement. “I smell like you. I like it,” he added softly.

Dean’s heart resumed its fierce pounding. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes?”                

“You gonna take off, after Sammy gets back?”

“No. I hadn’t planned to. Why?”

Dean gently pried himself away from Cas so that they could face each other.

“You’re gonna stay? Here, in the bunker? With us?”

Cas frowned slightly. “I…yes. I want to. But if you don’t want me to—”

“I want you to,” Dean cut in, his heart deafening in his ears. “If you want to.”

“I do want to.”

Dean nodded dumbly. “Right. Yeah. Cool. I mean…yeah. That’s awesome.” He tried for a grin, but for some reason, he was so nervous that it came out lopsided and hardly convincing.

Cas’s expression softened. He raised a hand and, waiting for Dean’s nod, brought it to cup Dean’s cheek. The rough texture was what Dean had imagined, what Dean _knew_ from living in that body, and he leaned into the touch, letting his eyes sink closed.

“Dean…” Cas whispered, and Dean didn’t think he had ever heard Cas whisper before, nor could he recall ever doing it when he was in that body.

Dean opened his eyes to see Cas staring at him, his expression a mix of hopeful but fearful.

“Dean, can I kiss you?”

Dean couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t possible Cas had said that. Only in his _dreams_.

“Are you serious?” he blurted, and Cas crumpled, turning away.

“Apologies. Please forget that—” he started, and Dean hurried to correct himself.

“No! I mean, I just…this doesn’t feel real. I’ve wanted…” Cas was looking at him again, and Dean steeled himself. “I’ve wanted you.” Dean felt faint as the words fell from his lips. He realized, belatedly, that he was trembling. Cas gently cupped his face again, but this time with both hands.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Cas said, and he tilted his head, leaning in, and then their lips were meeting and _god_ , Dean had thought the stubble would be a turn-off but it was _so_ the opposite.

The kiss was short and sweet, but somehow they were both breathless when Cas pulled back. Dean felt like the world had just shifted off its axis, because he felt like he was falling and simultaneously on fire from lust. He wanted Cas. He’d wanted Cas for a long time. But he’d never thought…

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely straight.

At that errant thought, a burst of laughter escaped, and then he was crying and gasping out of sheer disbelief and joy and a thousand other things he couldn’t name. Here he was in Cas’s arms, Cas, a Fallen angel, who had gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition, an angel who had changed everything, an angel who was human himself, now. Cas was… _nothing_ now in the grand scheme of things, but he was here and he was staying and Dean…Dean was happy. All because of some stupid freakin’ coin and their _profound bond_.

Whatever that meant.

But for the first time in a long time, Dean allowed himself to hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
